Chapter 3 #2
“No, Aunt.” I remembered the pressure of Seymour’s hand on my breast, the unclean feeling in my belly, and the startled shock that a man had dared touch me so familiarly.
“You were mistaken,” Aunt Kat repeated, stressing each word. “Lord Sudeley is a rogue, and he smiled at you. It excited you.”
I shook my head. “Disgusted me, rather.”
“Please do not say such things about your betters, Eloise. People will believe I have raised you with no manners.”
I gazed at her, my heart beating faster. “Please listen to me, Auntie.”
“No, Eloise. You were mistaken. Say nothing more of it.”
Anger wound through my fears. “I thought you would wish to keep our lady Elizabeth safe.”
“I do. I want that beyond everything.” The shrewdness returned to Aunt Kat’s tone. “There is more to this than what you understand. Say nothing, for dear Jesus’ sake, or you will bring disaster upon us all.”
“But, poor Queen Catherine,” I began.
Aunt Kat’s mouth turned down. “Eloise, to whom are you loyal?”
“To you, Aunt,” I answered, bewildered.
“And?”
“Uncle John, of course.”
“And?”
I swallowed. “Her Grace Elizabeth.”
Aunt Kat nodded, satisfied, and plied me with no more ands. “Keep your thoughts to yourself and your mouth closed,” she said. “Close your eyes as well, if need be.”
I deflated, something inside me curling into a small, tight ball. “I understand nothing of this.”
Aunt Kat resumed her book. “I suppose your lack of astuteness comes of your mother marrying low. I’d at first expected you to grow up to be a bearer of false tales, like your actor father.
Instead, God has gifted you with a straightforward tongue and shining honesty.
Unfortunately, these gifts are not always useful in the world of the court. ”
“You would rather I learned to lie?” I asked in amazement.
Aunt Kat patted my cheek. “Of course not, dear. But I would like you to discover the meaning of the word discretion and apply it well.”
“Discretion,” I repeated.
“Yes, dear.” My aunt returned to her reading while I struggled to comprehend.
“Are you saying that the occurrence today was political?” I asked.
“I am saying nothing, you silly girl. I already know how to apply discretion.”
I stared at her. “But Queen Catherine is married to Lord Sudeley.”
“Yes, Eloise, I know that,” Aunt Kat said patiently. “But my first loyalty is to Elizabeth. What is best for her is best for me, and for you.”
I closed my gaping mouth, my jaw aching. “Perhaps you ought to send me home to Grandmama.”
I winced as I suggested this, because I had no desire to come under control of that sharp-tongued lady. She was a bit kinder to me than she was to my mother, but her bluntness could be unsettling.
Aunt Kat patted my cheek once more. “Nonsense, dear. I want you here with me. I’d miss you terribly.”
“Would you?” I asked in genuine surprise.
Aunt Kat was an affectionate woman, but she’d never once told me she was pleased to have me about. I’d thought of myself as rather a nuisance, except when there were gowns to be made.
“Indeed.” Aunt Kat quieted. “I need you, Eloise. Be my eyes and ears. I want to know every word Lord Sudeley speaks to our Elizabeth in my absence. Every word. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Aunt Kat,” I said meekly.
“Good girl. Now off to bed with you.”
I kissed Aunt Kat and departed her chamber for my own chilled room, where I sat up far into the night.
I’d gone to Aunt Kat supposing she would listen to my tale, grow horrified, and insist that Elizabeth, with herself, me, and Uncle John, leave the house immediately.
Instead, she’d behaved as though the event between myself and Seymour in the passage had been simply bothersome.
An unlooked-for incident to be suppressed at all costs.
You are slow, Eloise, Aunt Kat had been saying. You comprehend neither Greek nor Latin nor the subtleties of the court.
I wondered, as I blew out the candle, into what troubles those subtleties were rushing us.
In the morning, I was a wary creature. I performed the same rituals as I did every day—washing my face, brushing my unruly dark hair, cleaning the grime from under my fingernails.
I rinsed my mouth, chewing a bit of anise to make my breath pleasant, then turned to the breakfast a maidservant had delivered to the outer chamber.
I ate bread smeared with thick, sweet butter and took a few bites of the porridge that Aunt Kat had regularly forced upon me since the age of four.
After I’d eaten, the maid helped me don a dark blue undergown, lacing my bodice in the back.
Over this went a robe of plain brown, the sleeves the maid helped me fasten on pinned back to reveal the white linen of my chemise.
The pointed edge of my stomacher was tied to a skirt that flared from tucks that I had taken pains to make exactly even.
The maid adjusted what we called a French hood, which was a wide band that pushed my hair from my forehead, with a fine cloth to cover its length in back.
One ring, plain and silver, adorned my finger. My mother had given me the ring, telling me it had been my father’s. The band was thin, beaten, and worn, without much value, but it was my only link to a man I’d never see again, and I wore it every day.
Attired and fed, I gathered my sewing basket and made my way downstairs to Elizabeth’s chamber. All as usual.
However, I could not put the previous day’s events out of my head.
I recalled the almost savage look on Seymour’s face as he cut up Elizabeth’s dress.
I remembered Catherine’s taut laughter as she abetted her husband in dallying with another woman.
And then Elizabeth, glaring at Aunt Kat and insisting she had done nothing wrong.
When I reached Elizabeth’s rooms, I took my place on a bench near an open window. Soft late-April air slid around me, bathing me in pleasant scents.
From my basket, I lifted out the bodice the Parisian netting I’d begun the day before and laid it across my lap. I had already stitched in the boning and now needed to sew the side seams. My work must be carefully done, or the points in front would not match, and I’d have to start all over again.
The chamber was filled with Elizabeth’s gentlewomen, young and middle-aged, pretty and plain, highborn and gentry. Elizabeth had already been dressed and was seated near the fire, but two ladies hovered around her, one settling her hood, the other shaking her skirt so it would lie straight.
Elizabeth was in a sunny mood, jesting with her ladies as she chewed on red strawberries, bright as jewels, an open book in her lap. She seemed content, but I could not be.
I worried for her, and I worried I would say the wrong thing to her about Seymour. I feared Elizabeth would ask me of him, and I’d not be able to say a word in case I spoke unwise ones.
I made one last stitch and beckoned to a lady. “Please, tell Her Grace that we must have a fitting.”
The gentlewoman nodded and returned to her mistress. I saw Elizabeth brighten, which relieved me. Sometimes, she did not like to leave her books for any reason, but she did like to try on clothes.
Elizabeth rose from her seat, letting the lady’s maid loosen her gown and pull it from her shoulders. I left my bench, smoothing out the half-made bodice I’d just stitched.
At that exact moment, Seymour strode into the chamber.
He was dressed for hunting, in riding boots, plain doublet, and trunk hose, a half-cloak swirled over his formidable shoulders.
Elizabeth, caught in dishabille, sent Seymour one startled glance before rushing to a standing screen across the room and ducking behind it.
“How now?” Seymour demanded. “Is the lady so modest? Must you hide from your step-papa?”
Only I seemed alarmed. The gentlewomen giggled or shot Seymour coquettish glances as they banded together. They formed a tittering mass before the screen so that Seymour could not get at the half-dressed Elizabeth.
“You challenge me, my lovelies.” Seymour laid a firm hand on the arm of a younger lady. “I have touched you, my dear. Now, you may not sit down until you have touched me. But you must catch me, first.”
The lady, instead of being indignant or frightened, responded to the game with glee. She dove for Seymour, who easily evaded her. The others joined in as Seymour dodged about the large chamber, a trail of ladies chasing him.
I remained in my corner, watching the proceedings in trepidation. Elizabeth remained behind the screen, but I heard her excited laughter.
It was a bizarre scene, this grown man chasing and being chased by ladies, their skirts rippling. The gentlewomen screeched and ran here and there, while I hovered near the window, Elizabeth’s half-made bodice clutched to my chest.
Seymour dodged past me and tore the bodice from my grip. I desperately lunged for it, but he held the bodice above his head, smiling playfully. A cold light lurked in his eyes, as though this foolery meant something deeper and more dangerous.
“Tell your mistress to come out,” Seymour commanded me. “Else I’ll rip it to shreds.”
“Your lordship.” My voice was a gasp. “No, please.”
Seymour’s eyes narrowed in dislike as he waved the bodice over his head. “Come and get it, kitten.”
He knew I could only reach the garment by climbing him, and also that I would never do such a thing. He’d read my character when I’d fled from him in the passageway many nights ago. I’d seen through his vile flirtations and rejected him.
“Tell her,” he repeated, voice hard.
Mutely, I shook my head.
Seymour clutched the bodice, and then he tore it in two, a heartbreaking sound.
I could only clasp my hands in despair as Seymour rent the fabric again and again, tearing out the painstaking seams I’d spent the morning making.
I had to watch my hard work ruined beyond repair by a man who valued it not.